« ForrigeFortsett »
MRS. F. Great bags of stones ! they're pretty things to help
a boat to swim !
BOATMAN. The wind is fresh — if she don't scud, it's not the
breeze's fault !
Mrs. F. Wind fresh, indeed, I never felt the air so full of salt!
BOATMAN. That schooner, Bill, harn't left the roads, with
oranges and nuts !
Mrs. F. If seas have roads, they ’re very rough — I never
felt such ruts!
BOATMAN. It's neap, ye see, she's heavy lade, and could n't
pass the bar.
Mrs. F. The bar! what, roads with turnpikes too? I won
der where they are !
BOATMAN. Ho! Brig ahoy! hard up! hard up! that lubber
MRS. F. Yes, yes,— hard up upon a rock! I know some danger 's near!
[ing like a bull ! Lord, there's a wave! it's coming in ! and roar
BOATMAN. Nothing, Ma'am, but a little slop! go large, Bill !
keep her full!
Mrs. F. What, keep her full ! what daring work ! when
full, she must go down !
BOATMAN. Why, Bill, it lulls ! ease off a bit — it's coming
off the town! Steady your helm ! we'll clear the Pint! lay
right for yonder pink !
Mrs. F. Be steady - well, I hope they can! but they 've • got a pint of drink !
BOATMAN. Bill, give that sheet another haul - she'll fetch
it up this reach.
MRS. F. I'm getting rather pale, I know, and they see it
by that speech !
I wonder what it is, now, but —
I never felt so
Bill, mind your luff — why Bill, I say, she's
yawing - keep her near!
Mrs. F. Keep near! we're going further off; the land's
behind our backs.
BOATMAN. Be easy, Ma’am, it's all correct, that's only 'cause
we tacks : We shall have to beat about a bit,— Bill, keep her
out to sea.
MRS. F. Beat who about? keep who at sea ? - how black
they look at me!
Boatman. It's veering round – I knew it would ! off with
her head ! stand by !
MRS. F. Off with her head! whose? where? what with ?
- an axe I seem to spy !
BOATMAN. She can't not keep her own, you see; we shall
have to pull her in!
Mrs. F. They'll drown me, and take all I have ! my life's
not worth a pin!
BOATMAN. Look out you know, be ready, Bill — just when
she takes the sand !
MRS. F. The sand — O Lord ! to stop my mouth! how
every thing is planned !
BOATMAN. The handspike, Bill — quick, bear a hand! now
Ma'am, just step ashore !
MRS. F. What! ain't I going to be killed — and weltered
in my gore ? Well, Heaven be praised ! but I'll not go a sailing
LITERARY AND LITERAL.
The March of Mind upon its mighty stilts, (A spirit by no means to fasten mocks on,) In travelling through Berks, Beds, Notts, and
Wilts, Hants — Bucks, Herts, Oxon, Got up a thing our ancestors ne'er thought on, A thing that, only in our proper youth, We should have chuckled at — in sober truth, A Conversazione at Hog's Norton !
A place whose native dialect, somehow,
Taken for grunted.
Conceive the snoring of a greedy swine,
O shades of Shakspeare! Chaucer ! Spenser !
Milton! Pope! Gray! Warton ! O Colman! Kenny! Planche! Poole! Peake!
Pocock ! Reynolds ! Morton ! VOL. III.